


I Understand.

by holmesbrcthers



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU prompt, Gen, John is haunted by the war, Sherlock Cares, St. Bart's, Trigger warning: thoughts of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmesbrcthers/pseuds/holmesbrcthers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where John works at St. Bart’s and he meets Sherlock after his unsuccessful attempt to commit a suicide from the hospital’s rooftop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Understand.

**Author's Note:**

> AU prompt provided by tumblr's ughbenedict.
> 
> Please be warned, thoughts of suicide are present in this work and passed attempts are also mentioned in passing. If you are comfortable with this, please carry on, and let me know what you think.
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and to the BBC.

Sherlock looked up from his microscope in the lab at St. Bart’s to pick up another sample to analyze when he saw the other man. What was his name again? Oh, what did that matter, he was probably just another blubbering idiot who had been forced to leave the army, and became a doctor. Ugh. But Sherlock had seen the man around before, and knew his demeanor, like he knew everyone’s. Today was different. Sherlock glanced up again to better observe the man. Calm, and yet nervous.

Calm, and yet nervous. Sherlock furrowed his brows as he returned to his work, distracted by the conflicting emotions he had read on his face… And it hit him. The sudden realization threw Sherlock out of his chair to run after the doctor, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Molly? MOLLY!” Molly peeked her head around the corner. “What is it Sherlock?” she asked quietly, and patiently. Sherlock ran past her, all the while scanning the floor for clues on the blonde’s direction. “Where did he go?”

“Who?” Molly asked, a little worried this time. Sherlock ran back towards her and shook her delicate frame by her shoulders. “Dr. Watson, that’s who!” he exclaimed, the man’s name coming back to him suddenly. Molly pointed towards the staircase, unable to speak. Sherlock ran away, not even bothering to thank the poor woman. Sherlock knew what was happening, he’d felt the same so many times before, and left Mycroft to finding him… Sherlock shook his head violently, shaking away the images.

Sherlock saw the scuff marks on the stairs, and at a glance, he could tell that they belonged to Watson, his army demeanor never leaving him, even when… Sherlock shook his head. No, he wouldn’t let it happen. No man who had survived the war and came back to help others should have to go through things alone. No person so human should have to feel like Sherlock, the monster, had felt his whole life. If for nothing other than Watson’s pure humanity, Sherlock ran up the stairs to save a stranger.

He heard the door to the rooftop open above him, and the adrenaline surged through Sherlock’s body again as he raced to the top of the stairs, trying to catch up to the small man. He finally reached the top landing, pausing only for a moment to catch his breath before realizing that his breath could wait. Time was of the essence, and he pushed at the door, running out of the building as soon as he could fit through. Sherlock stopped in his tracks. John. That was his name.

John stood on the edge of St. Bart’s hospital, arms splayed wide, feeling the wind under his coat, on his face, cooling the tears that he hadn’t noticed falling down his cheeks. The images of the war came back to him, hauntingly beautiful as always. John let out a sob. That was why he was standing there, on the edge of the roof, already having left his letter on his desk at home, that very morning. A letter that he wrote the day after he’d found use of his arm again.

He missed the war. What kind of person did that make of him? John felt more tears falling down his cheeks, unable to stop them now. That’s when he heard the door of the rooftop open behind him, and he heard the loud panting. John turned around in shock, almost losing his balance. John steadied himself: if he were to die, it was going to be on his own terms, he had already decided that. He stared dumbfounded at the stranger’s strained face in front of him. Sherlock, his mind whispered to him.

Sherlock stared into John’s face, his mind already racing to read him like an open book, but Sherlock tried to still his mind. He didn’t to know the man’s breakfast and love life (or lack of thereof, to be quite honest) to understand the pain this man felt, standing over the edge. Sherlock’s mind raced back to another day, on the same rooftop… He shook his head. Stupid sentiment, sending him back to the absolute worse day of his life. He focused his eyes once again on John’s tear stricken one.

“Hello, John,” he said, trying to keep his voice as normal as possible. “Mind if I join you?” he said as he crossed over to where John was standing, not bothering to wait for an answer. Sherlock stood right beside John, his feet on the edge of the hospital. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” John squealed, his nurturing side coming out naturally. “Well, John, it’s quite obvious that I can’t talk you off this ledge, so I decided to join you. Whatever does it look like to you?”

John just stared open mouthed at the dark man standing next to him. He must be crazy, he thought to himself, before his mind started to remind him of all the terrible things people whispered behind the tall, angular man’s back. John heard Sherlock’s sharp intake of breath as he looked down the side of the building, and saw a small smile creep up on the man’s face. John’s eyes widened as he realized why the man didn’t mind standing there with John. He didn’t care about his life.

Sherlock saw the realization kick in on John’s features from the corner of his eye, and he laughed huskily. “I know how you feel, John.” He shifted his feet, his mind calculating the amount of weight he was applying to each leg, his body reacting and trying to even it out. “I know the thrill you feel, standing here, knowing that your life is almost over.” He paused, trying to deduce John’s emotions without looking at him. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Almost poetic, to die like this.”

“I’m not trying to run away from other people, Sherlock.” Sherlock’s head snapped to John in surprise, not expecting a conversation: he hadn’t thought that the doctor would answer him. He tilted his head slightly, his brilliant mind catching up with the implication of John’s words. Did the doctor know? Had his brother talked? “I’m running away from myself, from what I feel…”

John cut off abruptly, covering his face with his hands, rubbing at it, trying to clear his mind. Sherlock, on the other hand, realized that John hadn’t been talking about Sherlock’s attempt. So that was still between him and his brother… And yet he didn’t want it to stay like that. He wanted to tell this man, this oh-so-human John, who felt like a monster. Sherlock chuckled at that, if this man thought he was a monster… He shivered.

John looked up from his hands to Sherlock’s face. “You think this is funny?” he shrieked, his voice painfully strained from all the emotions that he was finally letting go. “I hate myself! I’ve hated myself ever since I came back from the war, because I miss it, you bastard! You have no idea how I feel!” John laughed nervously, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’m a healer, I take care of people, and yet I miss the blood and gore of war. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Sherlock stared at John, processing this new information. This wasn’t at all what he was expecting. He didn’t know what he was expecting, if was being completely honest. “It makes you feel as if you’re a monster,” he said plainly, understanding John completely.

John stared once again at Sherlock, in shock. This man understood him. Another tear escaped his eyes: he didn’t want to be understood, it was too late for that. He just wanted to disappear, end this suffering and torment. But as his eyes flicked up again to the tall man’s eyes, he felt his breath hitch as their eyes connected, and he knew that all he wanted, was support. Understanding. Something that no one could give him. No one, until this man.

Sherlock turned his body so that he was facing John, senses hyper-aware of his balance being extremely delicate on the edge of the roof like this. For once, Sherlock didn’t want to throw himself off the roof, and he went rigid as the thought lodged itself in his mind. His breath became more shallow as his mind processed that the understanding could go both ways. No one understood Sherlock, not even his own brother. No one, until this man.

“I’m a monster too, John.” Sherlock said quietly, the admission making his throat clench. Ugh, sentiment. “The difference between you and me, is that people agree with me. They think I’m a monster too, a freak.” He hissed out the last word, and John could feel Sherlock’s pain. Sherlock was a master at hiding his emotions, but in that moment, he didn’t care if John could read him as easily as a book. He wanted the other man to know how much he understood the pain, the suffering, the silent agony.

Sherlock turned his face away again, looking out over the busy street below. “I stood here, once. Just like you. Finally ready to end it all.” He pulled up his collar, and tightened his scarf around his neck, trying to shield himself from the sudden cold that had descended on him, even though he knew that the chill came from inside, not from the wind. “And yet, even then, in what I thought to be me last moment, I didn’t think to say ‘I’m sorry.’ All I could think about, was ‘Finally. It’s over.’”

John broke down then, crying freely at those words. He had been thinking the same before Sherlock came barging in on the rooftop. And to think, that this man, this man who understood him, and chosen the exact same spot to try and end his life… It was all too much for John, and he felt his knees buckle under him. He flailed around wildly, trying to regain his balance.

Sherlock moved instantly, grabbing onto John’s coat, pulling him towards the roof, away from the ledge where they had both been standing mere moments ago, effectively saving John from what would’ve been a most certainly fatal fall. John’s body barreled into Sherlock’s, and they both collapsed on the hospital’s roof, letting out a huff as the contact with the roof knocked the breath out of them. 

They stayed still for a while, shaking from the rush of adrenaline. They didn’t say anything, just let their bodies and minds try and catch up with everything that had happened. Sherlock was the first one to sit up, pulling John up with him. “Come on, John,” he murmured encouragingly. John sat up gingerly, wiping at the tears that still kept flowing, and looked up at Sherlock.

“You’re not a monster, John.” John sat up even more at the words, trying to regain his composure. “Well, don’t start calling yourself a monster, Sherlock. I don’t know monsters who save lives…” John cut off at that, and Sherlock smiled. “John. If monsters don’t save lives, then you’re obviously not a monster.” John looked down at his hands and chuckled lightly, admitting Sherlock’s point.

Both men looked at each other before bursting into laughter, the thrill of being alive finally catching up to them. John looked at Sherlock, and thought to himself that finally, it was over. But this time, those words had such a different meaning. They had found one another who understood, and if they understood the worst times, they’d definitely understand the best. Sherlock cocked his head, eyes inquiring. “Dinner?” he said finally. John grinned, and looked up at Sherlock. “Starving.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this little work, I enjoyed writing it, and I truly hope you all enjoyed reading it. Please, do not hesitate to leave constructive criticism, this is the first of my work that I publish. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Thank you so very much.
> 
> (Thanks again to tumblr's ughbenedict for this wonderful AU prompt.)


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